


The InBetween

by clarnicamhalai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco-centric, inspired by the five people you meet in heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 20:42:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18059714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarnicamhalai/pseuds/clarnicamhalai
Summary: "There is no passage of time here; it is simultaneously forever and not at all. It is the moment you depart life and the moment you pass through Death."





	1. Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> "In heaven, there is no judgement, but rather an opportunity to examine our lives - who we touched, the choices we made, and the consequences of those choices." -- Mitch Albom (The Five People You Meet In Heaven)

The world was overcome with white haze when Draco opened his eyes. He couldn’t quite remember why he was sprawled on the ground – _a flash of green, angry hissing, a scream_ – it was all a vague memory, blurring together like a dream soon to fade into wakefulness.

As his eyesight grew accustomed to the light, Draco registered the clean white beds around him; he was lying in what seemed to be the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Surely that was impossible, he thought, hauling himself to his feet. Hogwarts had been all but razed to the ground during the Second War, and yet here it stood, undamaged and as clean as it had been during his earliest school years.

“It looks different now, I gather.”

Draco spun on his heel at the quiet yet firm male voice that had broken through the silence. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the well-built boy before him.

Standing there, as clear as day, in the black and yellow uniform of a Hufflepuff, was the tall, round-faced figure of Cedric Diggory. The ghost (for what else could it be, given Cedric’s had died in 1994) brushed its light brown hair out of its bright, blue eyes, giving the blond Slytherin an unhurried once over.

“You certainly look different, at any rate.”

“How-Where…You’re dead!” Draco caught himself panicking and tried hastily to regather his equilibrium. “Where am I?” he managed, feeling utterly confused and more than a little stunned by the sudden appearance of a boy who had been killed in Draco’s fourth year.

Cedric directed a small, kind smile at him. “Welcome to the In-Between, Draco Malfoy.”

Silence followed as Draco processed exactly what this statement meant. He had been told of this place long ago, in the childhood tales his mother had shared with him. It was the Place before Death.

“So, that’s it – I’m dead?” he queried shakily, looking in askance at the Hufflepuff.

“For all manner and purposes,” Cedric replied, walking towards the pale teen, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty and eerily silent Hospital Wing. “You aren’t yet in the embrace of Death, but your soul has left your body in Life.”

Not understanding, Draco frowned. “How long will I be stuck here, then?”

Cedric smiled good-naturedly at Draco’s lasting imperiousness.

"There is no passage of Time here; it is simultaneously forever and not at all. It is the moment you depart life and the moment you pass through Death.”

“If that’s so, then how are we here having this conversation?” Draco demanded, more confused than ever at the vague explanation the once Hogwarts Champion had provided.

Cedric merely gave a knowing smile and repeated his previous words.

“Time does not exist here.”

“Fine,” Draco replied, exasperated with the conversation and the perpetually calm Hufflepuff. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asked instead, indicating the medical environment around them.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Cedric answered, sitting on one of the neatly made beds, swinging his legs gently as he stared out of the open window where the sun shone over the lake.

Draco looked up at that, his eyebrows knitted together.

“Waiting for- Why waiting for me?” he asked. “We hardly know –knew – each other.”

Cedric continued to stare out the window, a faraway look on his face as he answered Draco’s question.

“To guide you to Death.”

Draco fidgeted, feeling restless, out of his depth and entirely baffled about the whole situation. He ran a hand through his blond hair. It was soft, and noticeably cleaner than it had been before he’d… come here.

“That still doesn’t explain why _you_ are the one waiting for me,” he said.

Cedric finally removed his gaze from the window, and slid from the bed, fixing his intense gaze on Draco. It made him feel decidedly uncomfortable; as if the Hufflepuff could see his deepest secrets, see straight through him.

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly, avoiding Cedric’s blue eyes as he waited for an answer.

“You were the catalyst in my death.”

Draco felt coldness wash over him even as he opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but faltered as the Hospital Wing scene changed to one of the expansive hallways.

A student hurried towards him, passing straight through Draco, merely sneezing as he did so, causing Draco to gasp. And then Cedric was beside him, silent and watching the far end of the corridor.

Draco followed his gaze only to see himself, at fourteen, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, talking loudly about the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Pansy was hanging off his every word, holding onto his arm as Daphne and Blaise followed behind.

The possy moved closer, and Draco spotted the past-Cedric just as he was able to make out the words his past-self had spoken.

_“Of course, Father says only Purebloods should be allowed to compete, and even then some of the people who apply shouldn’t bother. I mean, honestly, Hufflepuffs shouldn’t even consider it – Hogwarts Champion, ha, what a disaster that would be.”_

The Slytherins laughed in agreement (fawningly, Draco could tell now), oblivious to the fifth year Hufflepuff seated in one of the alcoves.

Draco observed as past-Cedric watched the younger Slytherins disappear down towards the dungeons. He only barely caught the words that past-Cedric murmured under his breath.

_“Hufflepuff deserves more respect; hard work can take you anywhere. You’ll see that one day, Malfoy. I’ll prove it to everyone.”_

Draco turned to Cedric as the past-Cedric faded and their surrounding changed back into the Hospital Wing.

“You made me determined to enter the contest…to be the Hogwarts Champion.” Cedric looked wistful. “And I did, I proved to all of Hogwarts, and to the Wizarding community, that Hufflepuff wasn’t a house full of pushovers and nobodies. I lived up to the Sorting Hat’s song; I worked ludicrously hard in the lead up to the tasks, and I came out on top – with Harry, of course, but I was proof that a Hufflepuff could stand in the light of Glory, not fearing danger or death.”

Cedric focused on Draco once more.

“I hadn’t even thought about entering until I heard you slight Hufflepuff House that morning,” he said conversationally, no malice in his voice at all.

Draco was feeling severely awkward at the honest way Cedric was retelling his story, but was saved from having to formulate a response as the other boy began to speak again.

“You didn’t kill me, but it was you who caused me to enter the tournament. You were the catalyst that sent me down the path that resulted in my death.”

Remembering the chaos when Cedric’s lifeless body had been returned, the cries from the Hufflepuff’s mother reaching into his mind, Draco visibly crumpled as he sat heavily on the edge of one of the beds

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring at his hands.

Cedric smiled a sad little smile.

“You’ve changed a great deal, Draco Malfoy. Your life wasn’t contained in that one moment.”

The room began to brighten, filling with white light. Cedric closed his eyes blissfully as the light encased him. They wrapped about him, thousands of ribbons creating a cocoon.

“Fare well on your journey, Malfoy. I’ll be seeing you.”

Cedric directed one last handsome smile to the blond Slytherin, before the white light completely encompassed his body and Draco was forced to close his eyes against the intensity of its glow.


	2. The Rising Sun

The white light gave way to a vastly different scene.

Gone were the beds and pristine sheets, and instead he was bombarded with nature on all sides; flowers of every colour carpeted the ground as far as the young Malfoy could see, small butterflies flitting gracefully between them.

“You always did appreciate beautiful things, Draco, darling.”

The alabaster-skinned boy turned at the familiar address.

Pansy. His childhood sweetheart.

Her pale purple and white lace sundress complimented her delicate figure as she sat, posture infallible, on a large wooden swing that was attached to one of the enormous branches of the ancient oak that stood proudly in the field they occupied.

“Pans…”

It had been two years since he’d been able to look at her.

The dark-haired girl smiled at him, the sincerity of her expression softening her hard features.

“Come and push me, Draco. I want to swing.”

She grasped the ropes tightly as he quickly and unhesitatingly manoeuvred himself into position behind her and pulled the swing back before gently letting it go. Pansy sighed contentedly as she sliced through the air, her eyes closed and a tiny smile on her face. Silence reigned for several minutes, until Pansy finally came to a slow stop.

“There is so much freedom here, Draco” she whispered, resting her head on his hand, which had covered her own over the rope. He carefully sat beside her on the swing, feeling as if she would vanish between one breath and the next. The swing was built for two people, and comfortably they looked out over the field.=

“I’d never felt anything like it when I found this place. It was so close to my home, but, in the same breath, it felt miles away.”

Pansy slid gracefully off the swing and ran into the rows of flowers, tugging Draco along behind her. When she found what she had been looking for – an open expanse of lush green grass – the witch lay down so she could stare up at the clouds. Draco followed suit.

“The only time I ever felt it again,” she turned her face to him, “was when I was with you.”

Without waiting for any acknowledgement of this admission, Pansy kept on speaking.

“My life was planned from the moment I was conceived: how I was to act, what I was to believe, who I was to marry.” She smiled at the last comment. “Nothing in my life was ever done without months of planning by my family. It was all preparation to ensure I was to be a perfect little Pureblood wife for a perfectly wealthy Pureblood wizard that would allow my family to retire happily with all their money and power intact. I was a slave to that family. And I never once received any form of love from them.” Pansy rolled on to her stomach and rested her chin on her arms.

“You know, Draco, I used to wonder if they’d love me more when we were married; when the war was over, and the Dark Lord had won. But I think in my heart I knew Potter would win, and that was what kept my wondering just that – _wondering_ – and not anything I could latch onto with more certainty.”

She watched as a ladybird landed on one of her slender fingers. She didn’t brush it off as he expected, but let it wander over the ridges of her knuckles and down the valleys between each finger. She sighed when it chose to fly away and rolled again to lie on her back.

Draco remained still, just watching her, soaking in her features – something he hadn’t been able to do for so long. He was still captivated by her ice blue eyes, and the slender neck that made her look so fragile and perfect to him.

 “They never told me how you died. What had happened – I could only imagine… and each thought was worse than the last. It was so painful not to know – not to say goodbye.” Draco’s eyes were wet with unshed tears for the petite Slytherin witch. He closed them and tried to quell the tears threatening to escape.

“It was an underwater cage,” Pansy said quietly. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there… it was a last-minute decision.” Her voice was distant. As he listened, Draco realised tears were coursing down his cheeks. “They thought it was safe – it had been cleared before we arrived. But they’d missed it. Whatever the trigger portkey was, it must have been tiny to have been missed. There was nothing you could have done.”

Cupping Draco’s face with a perfectly manicured hand, Pansy forced him to look at her.

“You made my life bearable, Draco Malfoy.” He slowly raised his eyes to hers. “That was more than I had ever hoped for.”

Pansy entwined their hands, smiling softly as her dainty fingers were dwarfed by his masculine hand.

“You stopped being a spoiled child long before I died, Draco. And you gave me something you had never given any girl before. You gave me respect. You put me before yourself.” She squeezed his hand. “You were changing without even knowing. You’re a good man, Draco Malfoy. You always were, deep down. It just took you a while to realise it.”

White began to seep into Draco’s vision, drowning the landscape in a haze. He held desperately to Pansy’s tiny hand, but she only smiled as she kissed it and covered his eyes with her other hand.

“Until Death, Draco, darling,” she whispered in farewell.


	3. Noon

Draco’s eyesight cleared to reveal a classroom, and he bit his cheek wishing he could have stayed with Pansy in that field for the rest of his Time. With a heavy feeling in his chest, he took in his environment.  Surrounding the Malfoy heir were strange looking objects. He looked closer at the nearest one which showed moving images of what were clearly muggles. They looked like soldiers, marching across the screen as a small man with a black toothbrush moustache observed them; a red, black and white flag depicting an unusual cross flew in the background.

“Hello, Mr Malfoy.”

A woman’s voice startled Draco from his reverie, making him tear his eyes away from the box. He almost wished he hadn’t.

The plump motherly figure of Professor Charity Burbage stared back through pink glasses, perched behind her desk in the Muggle Studies classroom that she had occupied for half a decade.

Draco gulped. The last time he had seen the Professor he had witnessed her demise at the hands of the insane Lord Voldemort. Draco had watched as her life was ended with the dreaded curse, unable to do anything more than un-focus his eyes and try to block out her pleas.

“They have created machines that perform functions much like wands, you know,” Burbage said after a moment.

“They have remarkably efficient tools that will cause instant death, as well as machines that can hold it off indefinitely… objects that can devastate and destroy a city in mere seconds.” She spoke evenly, gesturing to the moving pictures. “Observe what is currently playing on the television.”

Draco obliged, immediately feeling sick at what he saw; hundreds of bodies were strewn across the muddy ground, blood mixed with dirt and dried on human skin as it seeped sluggishly from the injured, dead and dying. Finding himself unable to look away, Draco watched as men screamed in agony, their bodies left mangled and bleeding as explosions tore them apart, revealing white bone and exposing organs, muscles and tendons.

Deep holes were filled with water, and bloated bodies floated in them. The blond boy dry-heaved as the image showed a conscious man trapped beneath another, one leg sticking out at an impossible angle while his jaw hung from his face, almost completely blown off, as the trench began to slowly fill with liquid.

The fear and pain was more than Draco could bear and he wrenched himself from the horrors and dry-retched for several minutes as Professor Burbage turned off the television.

“They aren’t so very different from wizards. The war you suffered through was for the very same reasons as the one we just saw.” She paused and looked into his eyes as he straightened. “Purity of a race.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He had held onto his father’s views on blood purity and the prevailing superiority of those with Pure blood for a long time. But towards the end it had seemed faulty somehow, fundamentally incorrect.

“They really are quite ingenious, you know,” Burbage continued. “Not just in causing death.”

She led the pale teenager to the back of the classroom where a roughly made shelf sat, holding all manner of peculiar items. Picking up one, she held it out to him. He took it from her politely.

“This is a mobile phone. It can allow two muggles to communicate over long – or short – distances. One doesn’t need to shout, but speak normally as if the other individual is beside you. It’s almost magical. They’re very similar to a floo call - just in a different exterior and conveniently portable.”

Placing the mobile phone back on the shelf, Professor Burbage looked at Draco significantly.

“It was people like you who were most crucial in the war,” she told him sagely. “The people who could see the wrongness in the ways of the dark… who were willing to go against their upbringing, against their families, for the good of wizard kind.”

She reached a hand out and placed it gently on his shoulder.

“I could see it in your eyes,” she admitted.  “When I was revealed you were disgusted by them – you hid it well, but I was always very good at reading people. You wanted to look away but you couldn’t, because _he_ would punish your family. You were trapped in a room without a door. So, you did what you had to and you suffered in silence. I forgave you for your wrongs in that moment. I understood your prison. It is one I had seen many times in muggle history.”

She gestured at the film playing silently on the television.

“You made a decision, a choice, because of what you saw that day. And it was the single most important act in determining your life.”

Professor Charity Burbage raised an eyebrow, asking him without words if he followed her meaning. He gazed back, free of the guilt that had eaten away at him for so long, not faltering at all as he replied, “I chose to believe your teachings. That muggles and wizards are separated by a singular chromosomal mutation.”

Professor Burbage smiled at the blond boy before her.

“Yes.”

And once more, the white light began to shine into the room, absorbing everything until it became unbearably bright, forcing Draco to close his eyes though this time expecting what was to come.


	4. Dusk

Waiting somewhat calmly for his vision to return, Draco heard a familiar, resonating drawl that fairly sliced through the whiteness, enlightening the blond to his most recent guide’s presence.

“Master Malfoy.”

“Godfather?”

Draco squinted as a small, spartan park came into view.

Indeed, it was his godfather and former Potions Professor. The tall man in his conservative black wizard’s robes contrasted violently with the colourful but battered plastic children’s play equipment as he stood in the centre of the ghostly park.

The older man gazed fondly over the grassy, deserted area, before gliding in his usual manner to where Draco waited, patient and respectful. Occasionally, one of his spindly hands would be raised to brush over a piece of the equipment, a twitch of his lips in remembrance of happy memories.

“Change comes to all beings eventually, Draco,” Snape intoned, coming to a halt in front of the blond Slytherin, his black cloak curling around his legs with the cessation of movement.

Without pause for Draco to comment, the hook-nosed fellow let his eyes glance to the swing set as the air around them began to distort. The trees, whose branches only moments before had borne no leaves, began to grow healthy green foliage, transforming the desolate park into a haven.

The sun poked gently out from behind an angry looking black cloud, causing the puddles on the ground to glint, rippling when water droplets fell from the overhanging branches.

Snape remained silent, staring toward the rusty gate as if waiting for something to happen. He wasn’t disappointed. In only a few moments, the sound of girlish laughter could be heard in the distance, gradually increasing in strength as the strangers approached the park.

Two girls, young, the taller perhaps only twelve or thirteen, wandered through the old, metal gate and headed straight for the swings. The older girl had dark hair, pulled back into a severe pony tail from her angular face, and wore a salmon-pink and white checked skirt and shirt with teal trim.

Bouncing beside her was a flame haired child; the angular face she shared with her sister only enhanced her pretty character, giving an entirely polar effect to the stern expression it gave her sister.

_“Lily!”_ the older girl exclaimed as the red-haired child – Lily – ran past her, laughing, in order to claim the swing that did not have a large puddle of water below it.

It was only then that Draco noticed another child in the park. One glance at the innocuous, hook-nosed, pale boy who sat beneath the cubby-house, his coal black eyes focussed intently on the red head, and Draco realised he was seeing a very young Severus Snape.

The girls were clearly muggle, judging by their clothes, and Draco wondered briefly of the purpose of his seeing this memory. Curious, he turned back to his godfather.

Snape’s face held an expression of uninhibited grief and love, almost frightening in its sincerity.

The two girls were continuing to speak, unaware of their watchful company, until very suddenly Lily jumped from the swing.

_“’Tunie, look,”_ she said, and pointed directly at the young-Snape, having finally seen him sitting beneath the play equipment where it was dry. _“There’s a boy under the cubby house. I’m going to ask if he wants to play hide and seek.”_

Lily was already halfway to the young Severus, who was looking decidedly pink in the cheeks as he pretended he hadn’t been staring at the girl, when ‘Tunie’ grabbed her arm, preventing her from doing so.

“ _No, Lily. You don’t know who he is, and besides he looks weird,”_ the older girl said, frowning as she took in Severus’ peculiar choice of clothes that included a striped wizard’s cloak several sizes too big and a pair of bright orange shoes.

Lily pouted.

“ _You’re so rude and awful, Petunia Evans!”_  the younger girl roused, wrenching her arm out of her sister’s grip. And suddenly, a rather large pile of mud rose up and splattered itself against the salmon coloured outfit.

Petunia screamed in disgust, glaring at Lily before turning on her heel and running out of the park towards their home.

Lily’s face was flushed due to her annoyance and anger, but she composed herself quickly and smiled at the young Severus, who looked amazed, his shyness abandoned for the time being.

_“You’re a witch!”_ he exclaimed, only to receive a troubled look from the freckled girl.

The scene blurred and the sounds faded, changing to show the two children; Severus, this time, was lying in the grass, under the generous shade created by the large trees. Lily had a radiant smile gracing her features, and Severus was clearly besotted as he watched her kick out her legs to gain height on the rickety swing set, blushing faintly when she grinned at him, and returning a shy smile of his own.

Then, the scene blurred once again and Lily was older, maybe fifteen, but no longer smiling, no longer defying gravity on the old swing set.

Young Severus was nowhere to be seen, and Draco watched as his Professor reached out a hand as if to touch her face, pulling back at the last second when she let out a hiccough, barely restraining the tears threatening to fall. She jumped off the swing, letting it rattle heavily as she ran from the park, red hair streaming behind her, untamed.

A movement from the bushes alerted Draco to the young Severus’ presence. He was hidden in shadow and carried a pained expression as he watched the fleeing girl. The blond turned to his godfather as the park returned to its deserted state; empty of memories but for the ones in Draco’s mind.

“That was Lily Evans,” he said, stunned. He hadn’t realised the connection between his godfather and Potter’s mother.

“It was,” Snape replied, not looking at the boy. “She was twenty-one when she died, Draco. And it was, indirectly, my fault.” He wandered to where the swing sat, suspended in the air and rocking as breeze that Draco could not feel travelled past them.

“It was her death that caused my life to change so drastically,” Snape continued silkily, despite the ill-disguised pain that seeped into his voice. “Sixteen years, I lived with the knowledge that it was I who caused the Dark Lord to crave their deaths… and, ultimately, the death of their son. Sixteen years I thought of begging her forgiveness… but I could never receive it. She resided in a place that could not give it to me.” Draco’s head of house looked distant in his memories of Lily, deep set pain underlying his vampiric features.

“Lily’s eyes were the last thing I saw in life,” Snape added this final phrase almost wistfully.

Draco opened his mouth to argue that point – after all, Lily had been dead for nearing two decades when Snape had died – but no words came out as he suddenly registered his godfather’s meaning, and how much he had suffered during their years at Hogwarts.

Harry Potter - the Boy Who Lived, of course. It was the one thing which everyone noted: he was the spitting image of his father, apart from his eyes. He had his mother’s eyes.

Every single day, for almost seven years, Professor Snape had been forced to watch his childhood rival’s doppelganger wander the very halls he had roamed as a young and naïve wizard, and then, in those rare instances that their eyes would meet, invariably emanating anger and disgust… he would be reminded that the boy before him was not James Potter. Because Lily’s emerald green eyes would stare back at him, defiant and flaming as if Lily herself was the one seeing through them, seeing straight through him.

Draco’s discovery was quelled by Snape’s deep voice, as it broke through the eerie silence.

“You were lucky, Draco.” Severus was standing close to him now, and he placed a pale hand on his godson’s shoulder, squeezing so lightly it was hardly noticeable. “Luckier than many.”

The white light illuminated the park, and the weight of Severus’ hand on his shoulder faded away when Draco closed his eyes.


	5. Night, & the Promise of a New Day

Opening his grey eyes to the whiteness brought Draco to a familiar place, but as he turned to meet his newest and final companion, he was somewhat shocked. He hadn’t expected the muggleborn Hermione Granger to be waiting in this replica room of Malfoy Manor – the very room where she had been tortured ruthlessly by Draco’ insane Aunt Bellatrix.

He blinked, but it was indeed the petite Gryffindor witch with the nasty right hook.

“Hello, Ferret,” she said with small smile to show she meant nothing truly malicious. In fact, her tone was quite casual, as if she were speaking to one of her school acquaintances, like Hannah Abbott, or Anthony Goldstein; polite and friendly, but peculiar, here, seeing as she was conversing with Draco Malfoy.

He cleared his throat and returned the greeting, albeit awkwardly, as his mind seemed to recall of its own, cruel volition, every insult he had ever thrown at her.

Hermione was seated on the ornate wooden table he had known his entire life, her legs swinging gently off its edge as she took in Draco’s appearance; his lithe form and white blond locks that gave him an angelic glow. She smiled.

“When I first saw you – on platform nine and three quarters, during our first year – I thought I’d fall in love with you. You were stunning, and clearly a wizard. Your parents were beautiful standing together and I was jealous looking at you all. Perfect and pureblooded. I wished that I had been born into the Wizarding world… to have known about it all before I turned eleven.” She spoke melodiously, as if she were reliving the memories in her head. Her eyes seemed to look through Draco, unseeing. He shifted his feet nervously.

“When you said you were going to be in Slytherin, I begged the hat to place me there. And do you know what it told me?” she asked him.

Draco shook his head.

“It said ‘a muggleborn, in Slytherin? No, no... I think Gryffindor would suit you nicely.” She told the blond mockingly. “It had told me I was cunning, ambitious and intelligent, but it refused me Slytherin on the basis of my blood.”

Hermione sighed.

“What’s worse is that, at the time, it only made me wish to be a pureblood even more.”

She stopped swinging her long, tan legs that were dangling off the table and tilted her head to one side in a thoughtful pose.

“It was your insult in second year that brought me to my senses,” she admitted. “I recognised the futility of want, and chose to be proud of who I was and who my parents were. I hated you for a while, for shattering my dream, despite the ugly truth you’d told me.”

The slender girl slid herself from her perch and walked across to him, straightening his clothes in a very domestic manner. It gave Draco a strange feeling as he stood there, motionless.

“When I fought Riddle, standing by Harry’s side, I thought of you and all of the children of Slytherins and how ruined you were by your biased upbringings. I fought so vehemently against Lord Voldemort because of you.” She smiled sadly.

“Isn’t it strange?” Hermione asked him. “How one can go from love to loathing and back again in such a short time.”

Her hand had found itself resting against a pale cheek as the boy drew in ragged breaths, confusion evident in his expression. This girl, who was speaking so tenderly to him, was not supposed to be admitting these things to him. She should have been socking him in the nose much like she’d done in a fit of hysterical anger during their third year.

“You can’t love me,” Draco whispered, though he didn’t flinch from her touch. She hummed in nonplussed manner, clearly having expected his denial of her declaration.

“And you don’t know me well enough to judge that, do you?”

He had forgotten her stubborn nature and quick retorts.

“What I have told you is for your benefit. You’ll be making a choice very soon,” Hermione told him, removing her hand from his cheek and walking towards the monstrous bookshelf before selecting one of the ancient tomes.

Draco followed at a reasonable distance, mentally twiddling his fingers as he considered how to best ask the question that sat at the front of his mind.

“How come…why are you here?” he finally questioned the brunette witch, emphasising the ‘here’ by waving an arm to indicate the lavish room of his ancestral home.

She tracked his hand with her expressive brown eyes, if only for a few seconds, before answering him.

“Professor Lupin once said that a person‘s biggest fear is fear itself,” she began. “I had never been as scared for my life as when Bellatrix was using the Cruciatus curse on me. I thought that I’d never be able to return here without feeling the pain all over again. But then I died, and here seemed to be the right place. The room, without people in it, is that same as any other room I’ve ever been in. It wasn’t the location that I feared, but the idea that I would be scared to return.”

Draco considered her theory, but was still slightly confused. After all, surely there were places that she would have preferred than this room in his home.

“I’ve overcome fear by coming here. There is nothing to fear anymore, not Death, not Life, not anything.” She smiled and opened the enormous book.

A blackness suddenly covered Draco’s vision and he cried out in shock before Hermione’s smooth voice reached his other senses. The scene wasn’t changing per se, because he heard and felt Hermione’s continued presence beside him.

“This is what lies ahead should we – or should I say you – choose it.”

Draco’s brow furrowed.

“Let yourself see a new life, Draco.”

Had they still been alive, the pointy faced blond would never have admitted, not even to himself, that hearing Hermione Granger speak his Christian name would be one of the greatest comforts he could have asked for. Instead, let the blackness overwhelm him.

Before he could even process what was going on, he was swarmed by Not-Memories of what could be should he choose their reincarnation.

_A young blond child, perhaps six years old, was running through a large back garden with enormous green bushes and a tree-house in the corner amongst the great branches of a large tree. His arms were splayed out beside him, and he was making loud noises as he tore across the grass to a kind-faced lady who caught him in a hug. There was no sign of anything magical; nothing at all like the childhood Draco had experienced in his past life._

_It blurred, and the blond boy was older, ten or so, and sat in the back seat of a dark green muggle car. A man was driving, one of his hands on the steering wheel while the other held the lady’s. The boy smiled._

_Next, the child sat at a table, opening a letter. He was a similar age, and it was only when Draco spotted a tawny owl being fed a treat inconspicuously by the man that he realised it was a Hogwarts letter. The lady read over her son’s shoulder sceptically, before the man pulled out a wand, clearly trying to explain the reality of the situation to his family. The woman fainted._

_The scene changed to reveal the Hogwarts Express, and a family with a daughter the same age as Draco’s possible self were waving to an older child. They were obviously muggles, despite having been a part of the magical world for several years. The girl caught his eye and blushed, straightening her yellow sundress self-consciously._

_The boy was older, perhaps fifteen now, and spoke to the girl from the step of the train as she waited on the platform, her curly hair held in a ponytail and a pretty pink dress on her slender figure, a pretty blush on her fine features._

_The boy was in a club, dancing with the girl under the strobe lighting. Mesmerised by the slow music, he stepped closer and kissed her, smiling when her arms wrapped around his neck._

_The boy waited at the altar of a large church, nervously twitching his fingers. A boy wearing tuxedo-like dress robes winked at him, before composing himself as music started – the church doors opening to reveal the girl, a woman now, in a resplendent ivory gown that shimmered and caused the boy to swallow, a blissful smile spreading across his face._

_The boy was holding a tiny baby as his wife slept on the large bed, and he flicked his wand to summon a bottle of baby formula, placing it gently in the child’s mouth and watching it suck greedily._

_The pair grew older, watching children grow up and go to Hogwarts, like their father, or to muggle schools, like their mother. They were happy and smiled often. Their life was good._

_The girl, now an old woman with grey hair and a kind, round face lay in a hospital bed in St Mungo’s. The boy, an old man with barely any hair left, sat beside her in a chair, whispering loving words to her. She closed her eyes, and the man didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that fell._

The Non-Memories faded away and Draco’s blanket of darkness was removed. He was back with Hermione, the girl from the vision, in his Manor. He swallowed thickly, remembering all he had seen.

“So, what I saw,” he stated to Hermione, “was what we could have should I take the first choice.”

The witch nodded, impassively.

“We won’t have any memories of this, or of our past life. It’ll be like starting again,” she added with a gentle smile as she looked into Draco’s grey eyes. “A new life.”

A new life, Draco considered. Thinking of all he had seen, the pleasure his counterpart seemed to find in his life despite the lack of magic in his upbringing, and how he wouldn’t be a Malfoy anymore. He wouldn’t have to justify himself because of his lineage – wouldn’t have to live for the ascension of the Malfoy name.

It sounded nice – different – Draco thought.

“What is the second option?” he queried.

“We move on,” she answered him. “We enter Death, and we don’t return to world ever again. The journey will be over.”

Death. Draco had heard many theories as to what Death was really like, but none had been particularly inviting.

“What do you think it’s like?”

Hermione shrugged.

“That’s all a part of the adventure – it’s the unknown,” she supplied.

“You’ve decided already, haven’t you?” he asked. She smiled.

“But I’m not telling you my choice. This time it’s your decision.”

Draco turned away slightly to reflect on his two options. Glancing over at Hermione, who was leaning against the shelves, keeping her face devoid of any incriminating or leading emotions, Draco made his choice.

This new life was everything his past life was not, and everything he had often wished it could have been. He would choose the first option.

He voiced it aloud, and Hermione broke into a true smile before launching herself towards him and pressing her soft lips against his. It was quick and gentle, but when she pulled away, he heard her whisper, “So did I.”

The white light flared more violently than ever.

**

A baby’s cry punctuated the air and a pair of blue-gloved hands wrapped the tiny baby boy in a blue blanket, the muggle machines beeping their assurances that the mother was safe and healthy.


End file.
